Underlord
by prvorod
Summary: Under the terrible rule of the System Lords, a young human by the name of Belan is chosen as a host. However, his connection with the symbiote Zirnitra is unique - Belan is able to retain full control of his own body and even use Goa'uld abilities for himself. With his newfound status as an Underlord, he does everything in his power to help the people suffering under Goa'uld rule.
1. Ep 1: Child of the Gods

Belan's bare feet were on fire after the long march. His torn blisters were leaving marks on the cold marble as he took his last steps. But despite that and many other wounds on his body, he was determined to face his fate with honour, standing upright and with head raised.

There was a dozen of them - rebels, infidels - strung together by a leash around their necks. Four Jaffa warriors were shoving them ever forward, taking pleasure in doing so. It surely felt good to beat someone who betrayed your god.

This was Svarog's palace. Belan had only seen it from a distance, a golden structure on a hill, far from his workplace. There were times, when he was a child, times when he would dream about setting foot inside and dropping to his knees before his god. Now he knew better - none of the beings that call themselves the Goa'uld, are gods. Belan had seen how helpless they are without their hosts. Now, meeting Svarog meant only one thing, and divine grace wasn't it.

The group of outlaws, ragged, dirty and bloodied after their march of death, were lead into the throne room. Belan couldn't help but to look around. He threw up in his mouth a bit. To see the walls decorated with gold and gemstones, or the enormous table laden with a mass of exotic food, made Belan hate the Goa'uld even more. Their slaves die in poverty, while the supposed gods stuff their bellies and halls with finery at the expense of the humans.

There were two thrones at the far side of the hall. Svarog sat beside his queen, Mokosh, with a grin on his face and a glass of wine in his hand. Mokosh stared out of the large window, disinterested about her husband's affairs. Belan's group was shoved further inside by the guards and their staffs.

The First Prime, an enormous Jaffa, walked forward to meet his god. He knelt and exclaimed, "My lord, I have rooted out the infidels from beyond the Red Hills. These are the rebel leaders. Do you wish to punish them personally or should I order my Jaffa to do it elsewhere?"

"Ah, yes," Svarog spoke with his unnaturally deep voice. "Well, they die, of course, but I'd like to know their full charges to decide the form of death. I am a just god."

"Naturally, my lord," the First Prime stood up. "They are guilty of abandoning their workplaces, assaulting and killing six Jaffa in total and using their weapons. But, above all, they committed a theft of four prim'ta. When we arrested them, we found the prim'ta dead."

Svarog's eyes flashed with an ominous glow. "I will..."

He was interrupted by a hushed scream from the corner of the room. Svarog, and everyone in the room looked that way - a Jaffa priestess was kneeling on the floor, with an expression of pain and her arms clutching her stomach.

"What is the matter?" Svarog was standing up, his enraged voice booming throughout the throne room. "How dare you interrupt us, priestess?"

"Svarog." Unexpectedly, Queen Mokosh spoke to her lord. "I think our child has something to say. Come hither, priestess."

The woman, still seemingly in pain, walked towards to the godly pair. "I apologize, my Lord, my Queen… He wants out…"

Mokosh stood up in front of the priestess and smiled. Then, with a swift, learned movement, she reached down into the woman's robes and pulled out a mature serpent. The priestess fell on the floor again, this time voiceless.

Mokosh walked up to the group of prisoners. Belan was almost close enough to jump at her and break her neck… but guards were everywhere. "You may be rebels and sinners," she exclaimed, caressing the symbiote wrapped around her forearm, "but my child seems to like one of you. He might choose a host from among you. See this as a chance to repent."

She then walked from prisoner to prisoner, studying the young Goa'uld's reactions. If Belan's hands weren't bound, he would maybe be capable of tearing the serpent apart when she gets to him.

The Queen reached Belan… and spend a longer time at him. She looked into his eyes and studied his features. "This one, child?" she spoke to the creature in her hand, and it squeaked in return. "Very well, then."

"Has our child chosen a host from among the infidels?" Svarog boomed from behind his Queen.

"Yes, my beloved. Another one of our offspring will further the glory of our dominion." She looked at the First Prime. "Take him to the chamber," she ordered him while walking away from Belan.

No, this can't happen! He can't become one of them! "No, no, kill me instead!" he shouted as the Jaffa was dragging him away from the rest of the rebels. Some of them tried to reach out for him, but more guards stepped in to beat them back into submission. "No, please! Kill me! Kill me now! Mercy!" Belan couldn't stand the idea of becoming a host. Death had suddenly become a far better alternative. "Alar! Nen'ta! Help..." he tried to call for his friends, still bound up, but the Jaffa holding him put his palm over Belan's mouth.

He dragged him from the throne room, into a little chamber accessible by a door. Belan was shoved onto a metal slab, painfully bumping his rib in the process. The slab gave him a shock of energy that completely paralyzed him, and he collapsed onto it. Some servants, already present in the chamber, stripped off his clothes - or what was left from them, leaving him to lie there naked and helpless, unable to move. Soon, Mokosh and Svarog both came in.

"Come, child," Mokosh whispered to the symbiote in her hand. "Claim your host." She laid the serpent onto Belan's belly.

Shivers ran across his entire body when the Goa'uld began to slither up towards his head. He started to feel his limbs again and tried to swat the creature away from him, but his movement was still limited. Squeaking in excitement and with its red eyes glowing, the Goa'uld got to Belan's neck and dove inside from the back.

The pain from the wound was only the beginning. Shockwaves of electricity spasmed Belan's body as the symbiote shifted and turned inside his body, lodging itself next to his spine near the skull. Belan desperately grasped at his neck trying to rip it out, but to no avail. He could feel slowly losing himself. His limbs jerked uncontrollably, not listening to his commands, the sounds he heard were muffled and his vision blurred. Finally, one last, powerful spasm rocked his entire body, his eyes burned with pain and his body collapsed back on the table, unconscious.

Hatred. Violence. Blood. Innumerable expressions of forceful domination. Images in quick succession flashed in Belan's mind - was it even still his mind? All the while white hot daggers of pain jabbed themselves in every inch of his being. Thoughts not his own, full of darkness and malice, sifted through his mind and brought up only the most painful memories.

On top of his mind, Belan screamed to stop, but it only got worse. The foreign presence punished him even more.

 _Zirnitra._

That was its name. A child of a Goa'uld queen, with memories of millennia past, filled with a desire for power.

 _Zirnitra. This is who We are. You are gone, don't even try to fight me. It is futile._

Belan refused to let go of himself, but he could feel his hope slip. This _is_ the end of him.

They finally opened their eyes. Belan's vision was blurry, but he knew that Zirnitra saw everything perfectly clear. By the looks of it, they were inside a tight container lit with many lights along the walls, with pleasurable radiation emanating from all around. Zirnitra effortlessly moved Belan's hand to press a button on one of the walls, and the ceiling of the sarcophagus opened.

Belan could do nothing as his body moved according to someone else's wishes. He strained his consciousness to move at least a toe a tiny bit, but Zirnitra did not let him. He had complete control of his body - and an ability to make Belan feel pain at will.

Zirnitra gracefully climbed out of the sarcophagus. It was a small room with walls laid with gold and engraved hieroglyphics, and two slaves standing in the corners. Belan's body was naked and the slaves stared at him. Zirnitra took it as a personal offence.

"You," Belan could hear himself yell, but with a much deeper voice. "Clothe me!"

The slaves immediately grabbed expensive robes neatly folded on a table, and with head bowed, they approached Zirnitra and helped him dress.

He raised Belan's chin. With a burning sensation of pain, he could feel his eyes flash with light. "Kree," Zirnitra ordered, and the slaves left the room, leaving him to examine himself in the mirror mounted on the wall.

Belan did not recognize himself. He never wore finery such as this, expensive fabrics with masterfully made golden embroidery with motives of Svarog's culture. His posture was regal, pompous and arrogant, with straight back and raised chin. His hair were washed and fragrant, simply falling down his shoulders in a brown waterfall. Belan could feel Zirnitra's dissatisfaction with the cut.

Zirnitra walked out of the room as well. The marble halls of Svarog's palace were similarly decorated, with paintings and writings and golden statues lining the walls. He strolled through like he owned the place, and he knew the way. Soon, he reached the throne room.

Mother and father, or how Zirnitra's thoughts described them, were sitting on their thrones. "My son," welcomed him Mokosh with a smile on her beautiful face. "Do you like the host? I see that he truly is rather handsome, don't you think?"

"Yes, my queen mother," Zirnitra bowed to his lieges. "I have chosen a name. Call me Zirnitra. With this name, I will serve my lord father Svarog until the end of time." Such pleasantries were a common way for a young Goa'uld to introduce himself to the court.

"First order of business," Svarog spoke with a smirk, "is that you will receive your kara'kesh and be free to try it on prisoners. We did not execute your host's accomplices yet, for I am sure it will bring the most pleasure to you." Mokosh smiled as well, almost like a human mother giving a gift to a child.

Belan could feel Zirnitra's excitement, but his thoughts were, naturally, opposite. Maybe there is a chance to save them, to somehow influence Zirnitra to let them go…

 _No._ Zirnitra released a shot of pain for Belan, for daring to even think of this. Maybe… maybe he could at least give them a swift death.

"I am looking forward to it, father," Zirnitra thanked Svarog and let a slave put a kara'kesh on his right hand. It was a powerful device, designed as a silver ribbon winding around the forearm and ending on the fingertips and palm with its specialized weapon systems.

Once on, Zirnitra examined his hand with awe and triumph. He is an Underlord, and most of Svarog's slaves and Jaffa would obey his commands unless Svarog himself says otherwise. His vision of the future was filling up with ambition.

"My lord," Svarog's First Prime addressed Zirnitra. "Shall I lead you to the dungeons?"

They descended into the depths of the palace, down many stairs, until they reached a long, dark hallway with cell doors lining the walls. The Jaffa lead Zirnitra to a particularly big cell, where ten of Belan's friends were kept. The First Prime opened the cell door and stood aside.

"Belan?" One of them, an old man named Alar, had a hopeful expression. "Is… is that you?"

"Shut up," barked another. "Belan is dead."

Zirnitra laughed. "Listen to you friend, old man. I am Zirnitra, a son of a god. Nothing of the host survives."

The prisoners receded backward to the far walls of the cell, but Zirnitra managed to grab Alar with his left hand and get him on his knees. "Feel the power of your god."

Zirnitra put his right hand, with his new weapon, close to Alar's hand. Belan was fighting him as much as he could. _Do not fight me, human. You know it is futile._

But somehow, Belan felt a sliver of doubt from his symbiote. He would have activated the kara'kesh by now, but Belan was focusing hard on not letting it happen. To retaliate, Zirnitra conjured another strike of pain to knock Belan out, but this time it was weaker than before. Zirnitra growled. "Jaffa, kree!"

"What is it, my lord," the First Prime queried.

"This device…" Zirnitra struggled to say with Belan's increasingly unresponsive vocal cords. "It is… not working."

"You you wish to use my staff weapon, my lord?"

"Yes, give it to me." Zirnitra wanted to extend his arm to take it from the Jaffa, but Belan did not let him to make move. In fact, Belan's body was stiff and unmoving, caught in a struggle between two minds.

As an attempt to resolve the stalemate, Zirnitra released another jolt of pain, strong enough for Belan to lose his balance. Not able to move any further, the shared body toppled to a side like a statue, hitting its head against the stone floor in the process. Both minds were knocked unconscious.

Zirnitra rose from the sarcophagus again. He was in full power of the body once more, with Belan not able to move a muscle. Mokosh stood beside the coffin, with a look of a concerned mother on her face. "Zirnitra, dear… What happened out there? The Jaffa claim you fell over by yourself, but we find it hard to believe. Did any of the prisoners assault you?"

"No," Zirnitra was embarrassed speaking about it. "I… I need more time. The host is strong, but I can overpower him now. It was my first day in a body. From the memories you passed to me, I know that such things can happen." Belan was amused to see how uncomfortable speaking about it makes Zirnitra feel

"Of course, son."

"May I continue with the execution of the prisoners, my queen mother?"

She shook her head. "The Jaffa had already killed them all."

Belan was in shock, straining in his body to display his anger. He had hope to save them, since he had a degree of control over Zirnitra, but to lose it all again…

Belan wasn't sure if he even wants to continue his existence. It would be better if Zirnitra just erased his mind and let him pass on in peace.

 _Hahaha,_ Zirnitra mocked him. _They are dead. Give up._

No. He can't let the serpent win. He must stay strong and fight him. Revenge in any way possible.

"You may look at their bodies. All ten of them were mounted on stakes on the palace walls, as an example of what happens to rebels." Mokosh smiled again and left the room.

 _Wait._ Belan was sure there were twelve of them brought to the palace that day. He became a host, so there should be eleven prisoners, but only ten were executed… and only ten were in the cell.

He tried to remember the image in his mind, the ten faces of his friends, to determine who is missing. _Not S'en, not Alar, not Poron, not…_

"Nen'ta," Belan said aloud. Zirnitra was as surprised as him. He punished him with a strike of pain.

Nen'ta was an initiator of their little rebellion. As a Jaffa priestess in a temple, she knew all about the Goa'uld, and over time, she came to the conclusion that they are not gods. In secrecy, she told her findings to people she could trust, but that changed nothing. They could not do anything to overthrow Svarog. All Nen'ta could do was to help the slave nations of humans and Jaffa where she could.

One day, she smuggled four Goa'uld larvae out of her temple, to have them implanted to four poor Jaffa girls, who couldn't afford prim'ta of their own and were therefore destined to die. She called her trusted friends, including Belan, to help her transport the precious cargo.

They were exposed, however. The Jaffa guards found out what they were trying to do, and launched a hunt. Belan's group managed to flee a long way, but the Jaffa in pursuit burned entire villages down, just to root the handful of them out. To prevent any further carnage, they turned themselves in, all twelve of them, but they killed the four larvae as a final act of defiance.

Belan was sure that Nen'ta was with them in the palace, but not in that cell… maybe she was in a different cell, or killed in a different way, as she was clergy. But why wouldn't her body be mounted on the walls?

Zirnitra walked over to the battlements to see the bodies of the rebels, just to make Belan suffer. They were all there, all ten of them, brutally murdered by many shots from staff weapons, and from being impaled bottom to head on long stakes. Guts were hanging from their open bellies and clouds of bugs were flying around. Belan couldn't watch - if he could help it. But there was no closing of eyes or turning head away, if someone else is controlling your body.

A minute of anguish later, Belan could feel that control slipping away. He closed his own eyes and bowed his head in respect, and there was nothing what Zirnitra could do about it.

Belan did not know how long they have stood there, motionless, engaged in a battle of minds. Zirnitra kept stabbing Belan's pain center, while Belan stoically resisted. Minute by minute, the pain that the Goa'uld could inflict, became weaker and weaker, to the point where Belan could straighten his back again and finally take a breath of his own after so long.

None of them knew how it was possible. Zirnitra had memories of the past generations, where a young symbiote struggles against its host, that was normal. But that genetic memory never features a host having full control, with the symbiote as a mere voice in his head.

Maybe it was Zirnitra, who was an exceptionally weak Goa'uld, or maybe it is Belan who is exceptionally strong. Either way, Belan wandered around Svarog's palace for hours now, and Zirnitra couldn't move a muscle. Belan found Zirnitra's assigned quarters, where he hid from the inquisitive eyes of Jaffa patrols, slave servants and other Goa'uld like himself.

It felt different than his prior existence. He still felt comfortable in his own body, but he could also sense that he has much more strength than a regular human. Many little scars and ails throughout his body disappeared, although that might be the effect of the sarcophagus.

Zirnitra had the most power when he was freshly out of the sarcophagus. Maybe that's what was helping him control Belan before. Maybe Zirnitra was never strong enough to control Belan, he was just aided by that piece of technology. Belan promised himself that he will never get close to that thing again.

He tried speaking. "Kree," he said in his normal, human voice. He cursed. If he is to ever pose as a Goa'uld - which will definitely be needed to escape this place - he has to use the altered, deep voice.

 _How do you do it?_ He asked his symbiote. Zirnitra did not respond.

The sun over the planet dipped below the horizon and Belan was still attempting to wrangle answers from the Goa'uld. Belan learned how to turn the strikes of pain around and punish the symbiote in turn. At least some progress.

All that was very tiring. Maintaining control over his body put a lot of strain on both his body and mind. Soon, he found himself lying on the comfortable bed in Zirnitra's chamber and drifting off to sleep.

Belan was woken up, but instead of finding himself in his bed, he realized that he was standing. Svarog's First Prime was pointing a staff weapon at his head. Carefully, Belan looked around, only to find out that he is on the corridor leading up to the room with the sarcophagus.

"My lord Svarog does not want to be disturbed!" The Jaffa was standing guard at the entrance to the sarcophagus room, and was only protecting his lord.

Belan cleared his throat and with the deepest voice he could muster, he made a quick reply. "I'll be on my way." He turned on his heel and quickly fled back to Zirnitra's quarters.

 _Apparently,_ he addressed his symbiote, _you sleepwalked in my body._ He punished him with a jolt of pain. He could almost feel the serpent squirming in his neck. _Do not do it again._

Of course, he could not trust him with that. The symbiote would take every opportunity presented to him. But how can Belan live without sleeping? He was still tired.

He managed to rest a few hours before completely falling asleep. He has to get out of the palace, off of this planet, even. Somehow. But not before he finds out what happened to Nen'ta.

Still during the night, he ventured down to the dungeons. He passed several Jaffa on the way, but made no effort to converse with anyone. Several cells had prisoners in them, but Nen'ta wasn't kept in either of them.

"You!" Belan pointed at of the prisoners locked up opposite to where his ten friends were kept, an old, beaten man. "Do you remember when they brought here those prisoners from over there?"

The prisoner looked at him with his tired eyes. "I… m… maybe, my lord… I don't know."

"There were ten humans in there. Do you remember one Jaffa woman being with them? Tall, dark hair, tan skin."

The prisoner blinked several times. "Uhh… oh yes. The Jaffa took her away."

A sliver of hope. "Where away? What Jaffa?"

"First Prime." The man shrugged. "He… uhh… Don't hurt me, my lord, I will remember, I just need more time…"

Belan nodded. "Don't worry, I won't hurt you."

The man looked up at him, surprised. "My lord?"

Was he being too benevolent for a Goa'uld? His voice certainly wasn't as deep as it should, either. "Tell me!" He ordered, this time more assertive.

"I think the First Prime said, 'this one can warm my bed,' or something like that."

That bastard. Nen'ta was certainly attractive, and a First Prime would have enough influence to snatch a prisoner for himself. That was disgusting, but it meant one thing…

Nen'ta is alive.

"Thank you," he said to the prisoner, realizing too late that it was a mistake. "You... pathetic worm," he added to throw off suspicion.

Belan, with his best voice, asked a lowly Jaffa soldier where does the First Prime have his quarters. Then, he made sure that the First Prime is posted near Svarog in the throne room, and went to investigate.

The palace was huge and hard to navigate. Belan took a wrong turn and had to double back to find his way again. Finally, he found the corridor that the Jaffa described to him and saw the door to First Prime's room. He looked around and picked up the pace.

He was at the door, when he heard a deep voice calling to him. "Zirnitra, son," yelled Mokosh, appearing from around the corner. "What are you doing here?" She looked… concerned?

Belan was startled, and hesitant to speak up. She could expose him. His pulse quickened and his mind raced trying to find a solution, when he felt his control slip.

"Mother, here you are!" Zirnitra yelled in an altered voice, eager to seek help. However, Belan was able to strike him with pain and regain control.

"I heard our lord was looking for you," said Belan, trying to save the situation. To his surprise, his voice was still altered.

"Is that true?" Mokosh queried. "Come, we can walk there together."

It appeared he had no choice. Finding Nen'ta must wait.

 _I hope you realize that you saved me,_ mocked Belan his symbiote.

He walked beside Mokosh back towards the throne room. "Do you have full control now?" she asked.

"Of course, m... mother. It was just temporary…" Even if his voice sounded right, he did not know how to speak like a Goa'uld.

"That is good to hear. My beloved already has an assignment for you today."

If the System Lord thinks he will work for them, he's dead wrong. "What… assignment?"

"You will hear just now." They entered the throne room, and she addressed Svarog. "Were you looking for me, my beloved?"

 _If he says no, I'm screwed._

"Yes, actually." Belan released a sigh of relief. "My beloved, sit beside me, while I talk to our child."

Mokosh sat herself on her throne.

"Zirnitra," exclaimed Svarog. "We will be sending you to the world of Khelah. Our subjects there are late with their tribute. You will take a squadron of twenty Jaffa to investigate, and to bring us what is due. If they turn out to be rebellious, crush them. Easy enough, for a young Underlord such as yourself. You are leaving tomorrow."

Eager to get out of the room already, Belan bowed. "Yes, my lord."

Doing all these pleasantries made him feel sick. The Goa'uld disgusted him.

He left the throne room and snuck back in to the corridor where Mokosh interrupted him. This time, he was clear to approach the door. Naturally, it was locked, but Belan didn't let something as trivial as that stop him. He knew how much more strength he has now that Zirnitra is influencing his body, so why not use it?

He took a few steps back and then rammed the door with his shoulder. The lock broke and Belan busted inside the room. A sharp pain in his shoulder made him regret this approach. He gritted his teeth and put his dislocated shoulder back into place, while releasing a sigh of relief. Only then he looked around to examine the room he was in.

It was similar to his own quarters. A large bed, several expensive looking pieces of furniture, with pieces of Jaffa armour and clothes lying about on the floor. This First Prime certainly wasn't a tidy person.

"Nen'ta?" Belan shouted, in the altered voice. "Are you here, Nen'ta? It's me, Belan."

Nothing, no sound. There weren't any doors that could lead into another room or anything like that, but maybe she could be chained up in a concealed place. Belan looked under the bed, inside a wardrobe…

"Nen'ta, it _is_ me. I… somehow I could overpower the Goa'uld. He can't control me!" She seemed not to be in the room, but Belan had to make sure. "I came to rescue you. We can run together! Nen'ta, please…"

Of course, why should she believe that? Or, maybe as a concubine of the First Prime, she will have a good life. But Belan doubted it. That Jaffa was a brute.

"Nen'ta… all of them are dead. There's just you and me. I need you. Trust me…"

Heavy steps could be heard approaching from the corridor. "What is this?" The First Prime ran inside the room, his staff at the ready. "You! What are you doing here, Underlord? This is a second offense from you in the same day. Are you conspiring against our lord Svarog?"

"No, Jaffa," Belan defended himself. "I know for sure that you are hiding a prisoner. If any of us is conspiring, it is you!"

"I am hiding no prisoner," he said, his face unable to be read.

"You took a former Jaffa priestess as a concubine." Instinctively, and as a surprise to Belan himself, his eyes menacingly flashed with light. It was a bit painful, but bearable.

"Her service to me is how she repents. Our lord Svarog has allowed me to use prisoners this way."

 _She is alive!_ Belan took a step closer to the Jaffa and looked him straight in the eye. "Do you not worry about defiling a priestess? It is a sin to touch a servant of the gods!"

"She committed sacrilege," the Jaffa menacingly raised his chin. "She lost her clerical status."

Belan had to think fast. The First Prime had valid arguments to defend himself within the Goa'uld morality. How could he make him give her up?

"As you sure know," Belan started. "My host and your concubine knew each other. They spent a lot of time together… even intimately."

That was of course a lie. However, the Jaffa's expression has turned - and now showed concern. "A Jaffa would never have relations with a human!"

Belan grinned. "She was sacrilegious, wasn't she? On many levels."

"But… that means…" In his eyes was a hint of fear.

"You are free to do a cleansing ritual. I am sure our gods will forgive you for defiling yourself."

The First Prime quickly nodded. "Yes, my lord. And then, I'll have the sinner executed immediately."

"No, no, no," Belan stopped him. "Leave her to me. She can continue to repent in my bed."

"But, my lord…" The Jaffa was seemingly confused about the turn of the situation. "Is that not a sin as well?"

Belan flashed his eyes again. "I am a god."

The First Prime nodded. "Of course, my lord. I'll show you to her cell."

It felt so satisfying to boss a devout Jaffa around, to mock him and make him uncomfortable… even to call himself a god was oddly pleasurable. But, at the same time, it was so inherently _wrong_. Even if Belan was in full control of his body and more, he was almost starting to behave like a Goa'uld would. The thought made Belan sick in the stomach.

The First Prime lead him to a different section of the palace, where four cells for more important prisoners were kept. Normally, cells like that held a rival Goa'uld, or a captured Jaffa general, persons that were apart from the usual rabble that starved to their death in the dungeons. Nen'ta was put into one of them, as all four were empty anyway. Svarog's domain was currently at peace.

When Nen'ta saw Belan from behind the bars, her eyes widened and she jumped up on her feet. The First Prime opened her cell. "Shol'va! Kree!" He kicked her legs and she fell onto her knees. "Kneel before the son of the gods!" Belan averted his gaze, as he couldn't look at her in such a state. She was obviously crying a lot while in this cell, and on many places of her body there were bruises. However, she wore a new robe and seemed clean for the most part - probably for her master's pleasure.

"Woman!" The Jaffa yelled at her. "Lord Zirnitra requested that you will be warming his bed instead. Serve him well, and maybe, your innumerable sins will be forgiven after you die. Although I doubt it."

"Yes, my lord," she said, over tears. The First Prime put a collar around her neck and attached a leash. He gave its other end to Belan.

"She is yours, my lord. I am heading to the temple, if you need me."

"One last thing, Jaffa," he decided to add. "No one has to know. I won't tell anyone how you defiled yourself, and you won't tell anyone that I have taken her for myself. Understood?"

"Understood, my lord." The First Prime walked away, with his long, stompy strides.

Belan turned to Nen'ta, who was looking on the floor, with tears streaming down her cheeks. Gently, Belan told her, "come with me, Nen'ta."

She didn't say anything, only obediently followed him back to his quarters. Once there, Belan locked the door. He let go of the leash and remove her collar. "Nen'ta… it's me, Belan. Look at me." She raised her head and looked on his face, but not into his eyes. Her dark eyes were strangely empty, hopeless. "I… I don't know how it is possible, but it is me. I have full control over my body. The Goa'uld is too weak to handle me!" Belan could feel Zirnitra's discomfort.

"Don't…" she whispered. "I know that you're not him. Kill me… please…"

"No. No, no, no," Belan sat down on the bed and gestured to her to do the same. She obeyed. "It is me. I would use my human voice, but… I am scared that I wouldn't be able to turn it on again. I need it to get by around here."

She was silent. "Think of how much good we can do! This is a great opportunity. We could… sabotage things, and organize a rebellion right under Svarog's nose… Maybe there is a way for all hosts to learn how to resist their symbiotes. The answer is somewhere in me. You have to help me, though… I can't do it alone…"

Time flew fast. It could be hours, and Belan spent all of it talking. About his plans, about his sensations in this new condition, about his hatred for the Goa'uld… And Nen'ta just sat there, on the end of the bed. Silently looking at the floor.

"Nen'ta… help me. I… it's getting dark, and I'm getting tired. You have to prevent Zirnitra taking over my body after I fall asleep. Tie me to the bed and watch me sleep. You can… you can sleep during the day. If Zirnitra takes over, you would know. Just… slap me across the face to wake me up. Okay? Trust me, Nen'ta. We have to do this together. Tomorrow, I will be able to take you off world, where you can hide..."

Nen'ta finally looked at him. Her face was expressionless. "I almost believe you. You do talk how Belan would talk, but back there, you behaved like a Goa'uld. I cannot be sure."

"It was just to convince the First Prime to let you go. I had to act as one of them… it is harder than it seems." Nen'ta looked back on the floor. "Okay, trust me just for this night. Take this chance for me. What do you have to lose? I need you, this night. Please."

She nodded. Belan showed her how to use the leash to tie him to the bed strong enough to hold him there. He removed his kara'kesh and gave her a dagger he found in the room. "See? I'm in your mercy. Would a Goa'uld ever do that? They are too arrogant for that. If you won't be satisfied with me in the morning, you can just slit my throat."

"Understood." She still looked like she doesn't know what to think.

Tired after the long day of deceit and act, Belan closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

She woke him up many times during the night - with a slap across his face. Each time he regained control, Nen'ta could see it. When it happened for the fourth time, Belan knew that she finally trusted him.

Zirnitra was furious, but he stopped attempting to take control eventually. Belan managed to have a few hours of sleep, a necessary rest for his complicated situation.

In the morning, Nen'ta released his bounds. "Now, listen closely. You will hide your head with the hood of your robe. If anyone asks, I decided to take a priestess to help quell a rebellion through peaceful talks. Hopefully nobody remembers your face…"

"One thing, though," Nen'ta was noticeably more comfortable with him now. " _How_ do you plan to quell the rebellion? You cannot order your Jaffa to kill people, you know that."

Belan sighed. "I know. I am hoping that it is not an open rebellion, and that they're just late with their shipment. If not… well, we will figure it out. Don't worry about that. Once we go through the Chappa'ai, we will be in a better place."

She nodded. "I trust you."

He told her to wait outside the throne room, even though he worried about who could see her there. Then, he made sure he looks enough like a Goa'uld, and entered.

Twenty Jaffa warriors in their armour and Falcon Guard helmets were already standing there in neatly organized rows, and Belan stood in front of them, facing Svarog and Mokosh.

"Zirnitra," said Svarog. "I give you command over these soldiers. Do not return from Khelah without what belongs to us. I give you one week."

Belan bowed deeply, resenting every second of it. "Jaffa," he yelled. "Kree!" He made a movement with his arm towards the door. In two rows, the Jaffa marched out. Belan followed them, relieved to find that Nen'ta is still standing there. He smiled at her.

They marched out of the palace and made a short hike through a forest, into a large clearing. The Chappa'ai stood there, large and imposing, with four Jaffa standing guard. Belan, trailed by Nen'ta, made his way to the dialing device. He pressed the seven symbols that Svarog had given him, and then the large red crystal in the center, and watched in awe as a shiny vortex of water-like energy emerged from the ring.

Belan had never used a Chappa'ai before. He spent his whole life here on Rodiya. Zirnitra did have memories of numerous trips, but that was not accessible to Belan in detail.

"Jaffa! Kree!" Belan ordered, and the twenty soldiers, one by one, walked through the puddle. Reminding himself to not appear weak, Belan forced himself to not tarry and step through without hesitation. With Nen'ta beside him, he knew that things are going to be better from now on. He took a deep breath and walked into the standing water.


	2. Ep 2: Insurgence

The first sensation was coldness, and then an unexpected urge to draw a breath. Belan was surprised by all that, but no Jaffa around him seemed to mind those effects. Maybe they're just so used to going through the Chappa'ai that for them it's just like going through a mundane doorway.

Belan shook off his discomfort and looked around. They were standing on a hill, with the gate surrounded by strange ancient pillars with chipped off writings on them. Of course, this world, Khelah, suffered through multiple changes of leadership in the last centuries, and every System Lord to control it wiped the symbols of the previous ones from the living memory.

There was a road leading from the gate, down the hill and into the countryside. There were several villages visible from this vantage point, surrounded by fields and forests. Khelah was neither rich nor populous, and most of what food these people produced went through the gate as their tribute. Belan would like to see them freed, but that seemed to not be possible. If somehow Svarog lost his hold over it, another System Lord would arrive. The most that Belan can do for them now is to save their lives. Convince them to send their tribute, to be patient… and hopefully he will gain a place he could hide Nen'ta. She was his mission here. He reminded himself that.

"Jaffa!" Belan yelled to his soldiers. "Stay here and guard the Chappa'ai. In order to not provoke the natives, I will contact them without an armed guard. If I don't return in… six hours, come find me. But do not shoot unless shot upon. Understood?"

"Yes," boomed the Jaffa captain from inside his bulky helmet, fashioned into a falcon's head.

Belan and Nen'ta started to walk down the road. Once in a safe distance from the gate, Nen'ta removed her hood. She took a deep breath. "It feels almost like freedom, being here."

"We could just run away, never to return to Rodiya, you know" said Belan. "Because then it would happen all over again." With guilt, he remembered how his and her actions lead to several dozens of deaths of innocent villagers, when trying to steal some Goa'uld larvae. "They would suspect that I conspire with Svarog's enemies, and try to find me. But you… you are already dead to them. You could just stay in the first village we find. You'll have a good life, away from most evils of the Goa'uld. The only thing they want from these people, is food."

"But," Nen'ta replied in a somewhat sad tone, "what happens to you without me? You know… there is no guarantee that you will ever find out a way how to sleep without Zirnitra taking over." She was awfully right, and this truth hurt Belan like a knife. He needs an ally beside him, but Nen'ta has no place in Svarog's palace.

"Then… I'll go visit you every night," he joked. They continued for several minutes, until the first village was in sight. Small wooden huts littered on the ground without any organization. Strangely, no people were in sight. "Where is everyone," he whispered.

"Look," Nen'ta whispered back, pointing at fresh footprints in the mud, leading inside the many houses. The villagers appeared to simply hide in their cottages. However, there was an awful silence.

"Hello," called Nen'ta. "We don't want to hurt you. We just want to talk."

The door of a nearby house opened and out came a short elderly man. In contrast of his appearance, his gaze was full of hatred and determination. "You don't want to hurt us?" He spat out. "Then why are there Jaffa on the hill?"

"If we wanted to hurt you, we would bring them with us," said Belan, in his altered voice. The man seemed startled, but he maintained his posture. It seems that on this planet, Belan would be better off speaking like a human.

"And what do _you_ want here," said the man, with disgust in his voice. Belan felt saddened to see his presence create such a negative reaction.

"We just want to talk to you," Belan replied, now in his human voice. He figured that it'd be better that way, so he switched the alteration off. Zirnitra inside him released a strong feeling of discomfort with doing so. "We lost contact with you, so we were wondering if anything bad happened to you. May we go inside?"

The old man frowned even more, and gestured him to go inside his house. Nen'ta and Belan walked in, inside a small room containing a table and a few chairs. The villager was not alone in the house - many others were standing close to the walls, afraid of the newcomers. The elder sat to the table. "Please, sit," he beckoned, and they did so.

"My name is Olm," he said, not letting go of his frown. "You are?"

"Nen'ta," the former priestess introduced herself. "And this is… this is…"

"Zirnitra," said Belan through his teeth. "I am…" he looked around at the suspicious looking villagers, "I am a son of Svarog."

The statement created a wave of whispers in the crowd. "However," Belan continued, "I know how... dishonourably my father has treated you and I wish you no harm, unlike him."

"He wants to help you," jumped Nen'ta in to alleviate the tension.

Olm leaned in. "And how, exactly?"

Belan took a deep breath. "Well, I'm sure you are aware… you are late with your tribute. This is something that Svarog would punish with death. If you hope for your situation to get any better, you have to send the tribute, like every year…"

"And how does that help us?" shouted someone from the crowd.

"It gives you time. It gives _me_ time. If Svarog is happy with you, I will be able to convince him to lower your taxes. However, if you refuse to send the tax by the end of this week, Svarog will send his Jaffa to decimate you."

Olm leaned back on his chair. "That's an empty promise, Goa'uld. You will change nothing. Not because it's impossible, but because, well, why would you? You're one of them! Even if you speak like us."

"No, no," Nen'ta waved her hands, "He is… different. Trust me."

"And why would we trust you, Jaffa?" Olm turned towards her. "You serve the Goa'uld. Or are you different too? Convenient."

Belan and Nen'ta exchanged glances. Neither of them knew what to say.

"On the other hand," Olm stood up, "we already have a solution to our problem." He looked to the crowd of people and nodded.

Four young men stepped forward, with arms extended in front of them - holding zat'nik'tels.

Belan jumped up. "What, no! If I don't return, my Jaffa will…"

One of them men shot him. The electrifying pain paralyzed his muscles and he collapsed on the floor. Before he fell unconscious, he saw Nen'ta falling beside him.

When he regained his senses, his head hurt like never before. The only comfort he had was the knowledge that Zirnitra liked it even less than him.

Belan looked around, only to realize he's in some kind of a cell. Probably just a cellar, as a vague smell of dried meat still lingered in the air. Nen'ta was lying in the other corner, and two villagers holding weapons guarded the hatch leading up.

"Hey," he called weakly, "how much time has passed?" His main concern now was the villagers' safety. However, the guards did not respond. "Listen, my Jaffa are supposed to look for me after six hours! If they come, there will be blood. Please, only I can prevent them from hurting you!"

The guards exchanged looks. One of them smirked. "We can handle ourselves, you see," he waved a zat'nik'tel.

"Oh, please," Belan managed to stand up. "You don't have the manpower, or training. There's twenty Jaffa out there, fully armed!" The guards shook their heads.

"How did you get the weapons?" Nen'ta asked from her corner - she regained consciousness as well. "Who gave them to you?"

Meanwhile, Olm descended through the hatch. "Well, well," he exclaimed, smugly. "Somehow we managed to gain a valuable hostage. Thank you for that. See? Svarog will give us our freedom, in exchange for you."

"No," Belan couldn't believe how naive these people are. "You can't possible believe that! He will destroy you!"

Olm shook his head. "We will bury the gate, and hide in caves. It will take time, but eventually he will understand that we are not valuable enough to spend resources on punishing us."

"Svarog is greedy and egoistic," said Nen'ta, "he will never accept defeat from humans like you."

Olm frowned on her. "How come a priestess speaks like that about her god?"

"I thought you are not keen on gods either," remarked Nen'ta.

"Just curious." Olm shrugged. "Anyways, the time is not up yet, so we will use you stop your Jaffa. You will tell them to stand down and forfeit their weapons, and then we'll proceed." He gave them one last mocking grin and climbed up the hatch.

Something was off. Belan couldn't explain it, but the matter of Olm's speech, and even how he… smelled?... was different from most humans.

Zirnitra poked Belan with a weak strike of pain. _He's a Goa'uld, you dummy._

It made sense. He mouthed the thought to Nen'ta, before the guards ordered them to climb up the ladder to the surface. She nodded - she probably suspected it as well. It would at least explain how they got those weapons. But what would a foreign Goa'uld do on such an unimportant planet?

The hatch lead to one of the houses. More guards were in the room, aiming at them. Olm lead his prisoners outside, where villagers bound their hands behind their backs. Only then did Belan realize that they removed his kara'kesh while he was unconscious - not that he knew how to use it.

There were about thirty villagers assembled there, some probably from the surrounding villages as well, half of them armed with zat'nik'tels and the other half with bows and spears. _Maybe_ they could overpower Belan's Jaffa if it came to shots, but not without casualties.

Olm - or whoever it was - was aiming at Belan with a zat of his own. "Now, let's go. You will walk in front of me, and my men will follow. When we reach the gate, you will tell your Jaffa to lay down their arms, or else. Your priestess… bah, someone tie her to a fence or something. We don't need her."

They tied her to a fence, as Olm said, and left two spearmen guarding her. Then, the small army was off, with Belan in the front.

He did not know what to do. Would Svarog really ransom him? Even if yes, he would be forever viewed as incompetent in the System Lord's eyes. But what about the people? If Olm really is a Goa'uld, then these people are being played. Who knows who is he working for? He surely does not want freedom for them.

It's a distraction. Yes. If Khelah rebels and buries the gate, Svarog would not want to be seen as a lord who loses a weak planet, and send ships loaded with troops to punish the people and retrieve his son. Which would open an opportunity for his enemies to strike his dominion from the other side. Belan, or Zirnitra for that matter, did not know what planets would Svarog lose if he diverted a portion of his forces to a backwater planet such as Khelah, but certainly a naquadah mine or a military outpost would be a target.

Not knowing what else to do, he swallowed all his shame and disgust. _Zirnitra,_ he called inside his mind. _Your father's dominion is in peril. This time, we seem to have common goals. We have to stop Olm._

For a minute, there was no response. But then, an angry whisper. _You know, this would never happen if you took those guards with you to the village. We could have killed the rebels, including the Goa'uld, and be heroes. But no, we are now hostages, because you are a pathetic human with no sense of ambition._

Despite the scolding, Belan could feel that Zirnitra helped him turn on the altered voice, even though he felt terrible doing it. But, well, they're going to need it.

"Olm," Belan said, so only he could hear it. "Which System Lord do you serve?" He only chuckled and said nothing.

Few minutes passed. Olm looked back and shouted at his men. "Pick up the pace, we only have an hour left until they come looking for us… Hey! What's the commotion?" Belan turned as well, to see a group of men in the back of the convoy, conversing about something, whispering to each other. Olm told a man next to him to watch Belan and went to investigate.

"Olm," yelled one of his men. "What is that?" He extended his arm, holding a smooth, small metal sphere in his hand.

"Oh, give me that," Olm tried to reach for it, but the soldier did not let him. "I said, hand it over!"

"Just tell us what it is," said another one of the men.

"I found it buried with all those weapons. I don't know what it is!" He defended himself.

"Yes you do," joined Belan. "It's a communication device. That's how you receive orders from your System Lord. He is a Goa'uld, people!"

"That's what the woman said," said one spearman. Belan recognized him as one of those left to guard Nen'ta. He must've run to his comrades. "And we found more devices. Even if he wasn't one of them, Olm kept secrets from us. Tell us, then, why didn't you give us everything you found in that buried stash?"

Belan guessed there was so hidden stash that Olm found, but rather a shipmpent of weapons and tech carried by a Goa'uld willing to change his host. "Give it to me, people," Belan said, attracting attention once again with his altered voice. "If Olm serves a System Lord, then Svarog is that lord's enemy. I have no reason to work with Olm. If I turn the device on, we will see who it connects to. If it connects at all, you will know that Olm is a Goa'uld."

The men exchanged concerned glances. "You can't possibly believe him," yelled Olm. "He is your enemy, and so is the Jaffa woman. They want chaos in our ranks!"

The spearman looked from Olm to Belan, back and forth. "Give the ball to the Goa'uld. We have nothing to lose."

The villagers raised their weapons, half of them pointing them at Olm. He frowned and crossed his arms, looking around him for a place to run. Belan was given the communication orb, while the villagers stood close to him, eager to see, but ready to fire if necessary.

 _Zirnitra,_ called Belan in his head once again. _Our common interest. Help me turn it on, please._

Zirnitra burned with anger and disgust. _One day, I will destroy you for what you are doing to me, ha'taka._

A trickle of information flowed into Belan's mind, explaining to him what to do. In a few seconds, Belan reached the right mindset, and felt a strange connection with the device. It buzzed in his hand and its surface cleared up until it glistened like a mirror. Inside, a handsome face of a young man appeared, with dark curls of hair and a well groomed stubble. The face frowned, and in an altered voice, it shouted. "Who are you? Where is Deimos?"

 _It's Ares,_ Zirnitra said, recalling his genetic memory.

Belan raised his chin. "This is Zirnitra, son of Svarog. I've apprehended Deimos. I suggest you approach my father with a peace offer and rich gifts." He ended the connection.

"Who was that," asked one villager. The rest of them seemed to have many more questions.

"It was a System Lord Ares. Olm is not Olm anymore, but an Underlord by the name of Deimos. He was trying to get Khelah to war with Svarog, so his lord Ares could defeat him. He never intended Khelah to be free. He was ready to let you all die."

"Oh, don't believe him, people," said Olm - or Deimos - who was still aimed at.

"Seize him and give him to Svarog," said Belan firmly. "He will be grateful enough to lower your taxes."

One of the villagers fired his zat'nik'tel and Deimos fell to the ground.

A few villagers helped Belan drag Deimos to the Chappa'ai, where the bored Jaffa were stoically standing guard. He ordered half of them to open the gate back to Rodiya and carry Deimos to Svarog's palace to be imprisoned. The rest were to guard the gate until Belan returns from the village.

He went back there. Nen'ta, now free and smiling, ran up to him. "Good job, Nen'ta," he said, once again in a human voice. "I… I am not sure how you convinced them, but without you, this whole planet and us with it would go up in flames. Thank you."

"It wasn't too hard. I was just asking them, out of curiosity, really, where do they have their weapons from, how did they formulate the plan to fight for freedom, and all that. Olm's story was rather suspicious, and the majority of the villagers didn't trust him completely anyway. The weapon stash he allegedly dug up from his garden gave them just enough hope to follow his lead, but they had their doubts. I told them to search his house while he's gone and they found those things."

"What other things were there?" he asked. Nen'ta lead him inside Olm's house and showed him a small box. Inside, a silver kara'kesh, a healing device and a small remote were found. "Is this...?"

"... a remote key to a Tel'tak," Nen'ta smiled. "I could hide the ship, so if we ever need it, we can fly off."

Belan confiscated the kara'kesh and the healing device. "So… will the villagers let you stay here?"

"Yes," she nodded. "They say I can live in Olm's house, but they have already split his land among themselves. I will get by just fine. But… will you handle it without me?"

"I'll figure something out. I will be at peace, knowing that you are safe." They said their goodbyes, and Belan was on his way back to the gate. By the time he reached the Chappa'ai, he managed to switch the altered voice back on, much to Zirnitra's dismay. With his remaining Jaffa, he went through to Rodiya.

"Zirnitra," Svarog stood up, welcoming Belan in the throne room. "I am impressed. You managed to expose and apprehend an enemy Underlord and secure loyalty of a rebellious planet. What can I do to express my thanks?"

Belan smiled, realizing that Svarog now sees him as a competent person, one who should be kept content. "My lord father… I will only ask of you to heed my advice."

Svarog nodded, but his expression turned bitter. "I'm listening."

"Khelah went through a turbulent time. To keep them loyal for decades to come, and to make them resistant to attempts of other System Lords to sway them, it would best if their taxes were reduced. I recommend reducing them by a half, at least for a few years, and raise them gradually afterwards. And to forgive them not sending their tribute this year. Their yields weren't very rich anyway."

Svarog sat down. He did not appear happy at all. "Fine. But you yourself will make the arrangements with them, and deal with any food shortage that could arise in the following years. But… I suppose that whatever Ares pays me will more than make up for it." He took a sip from his wine. "You're dismissed."

Even if it already was night on that part of Rodiya, Belan went back to the Chappa'ai, this time alone. The only way he could have enough rest after this difficult day, was under Nen'ta watch.


End file.
